Ties That Bind
by Nagi Kokuyo
Summary: Yamamoto wants to try something new, but Gokudera isn't so sure he's ready to give up the control he cherishes and risk the consequences. 8059 Slash LEMON


**Title: **Ties That Bind

**Author: **Nagi Kokuyo

**Fandom: **Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

**Characters: **Yamamoto, Gokudera (somewhere between present time and TYL)

**Pairings:** 8059

**Rating: **M (NC-17)

**Warnings: **Mild spoilers, homosexuality (meaning boy x boy love, people), language, lemon, rough sex

**Disclaimer: **As much as I wish it was different, I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn!, nor any of its characters, and I'm not making any profit out of this (Puh-leeze, I _wish!_)

**Summary: **Yamamoto wants to try something new, but Gokudera isn't so sure he's ready to give up the control he cherishes. 8059 LEMON

**A/N: **Please review! Tell me what you think, and flames are welcome (though I forewarn you, flames will be used to roast Byakuran)!

* * *

"It'll be fun, I promise," Yamamoto wheedled.

"No, I really don't think it will," Gokudera growled darkly.

"How do you know? You won't even try it." Yamamoto gave him the puppy-dog eyes, hoping to sway his lover; it didn't work.

"I'm pretty sure that I'm happy leaving this on my 'Things I've never done with my sadist boyfriend' list." Gokudera rolled his eyes at the rope in Yamamoto's hands.

"Please?" Gokudera refused to look up, knowing he'd give in if he did.

"Yamamoto, I…no," Gokudera finally got out, albeit a bit shakily. There was no _way _he was letting the baseball idiot tie him up and have his way.

"I'll make a deal with you," Yamamoto offered, and Gokudera _knew_ this was the part where he needed to leave the room, because Yamamoto always fought dirty if it came down to this and he ended up with the short end of the stick. Still, he stayed, genuinely curious what the other man was going to say.

"Let me tie you up. If you get out of it, that'll be that." Yamamoto smiled sweet and innocent—just like when they were fourteen and he went through life like it was a game—and utterly lying through his teeth about _something_.

"And if I don't?" Gokudera asked slowly, warily.

"Then I get to do whatever I want with you." Any other time, Gokudera would have been more than happy to be the recipient of _that_ smile because it promised all sorts of good things.

Now, though…not so much. The idea of giving up his control was not high on his priority list; in fact, it wasn't even on the bottom, it was written on the back in tiny print where he wouldn't have to see it.

…Still, it wasn't like anyone had ever managed to keep him tied up before. Yamamoto couldn't possibly be _that_ much better at tying knots. After a moment of grumbling, he nodded grudgingly.

"Fine," Gokudera finally conceded, sealing his fate. Yamamoto nodded, face lighting up with happiness. "Okay," he said eagerly, "then we should have a safeword just in case." His face became thoughtful. "What about Millefiore?"

They could both agree that the mere mention of that name was enough to kill the mood, at least enough to address any pressing matters. With that decided, Yamamoto drew him into a long, deep, primal kiss. _Let the games begin._

It didn't really take long, and Hayato couldn't help but shiver as fingers dusted over his skin, pulling his arm behind him. Takeshi had insisted he take his shirt off, and so he had, and he could feel his lover's breath, warm and almost wet against his neck.

He shivered and silken rope wound around and around, coiling around his wrists. He felt the rest of the rope wrapped around itself between his wrists, and finally, Takeshi secured it all, pressing his lips to Gokudera's shoulder and chuckling at the way the other man shivered.

"Done," Takeshi finally announced, stepping back, one side of his mouth quirked up in amusement.

Alright, he could do this. After all, it was just a rope. He relaxed into the bindings, noting the way his wrists rested one over the other. He pulled experimentally, dragging his hands apart just a little. The cinching that held it together was vertical between his wrists, so at least he had a tiny bit of room to maneuver. One wrist and then the other, he shifted and squirmed, pulling in all the ways that _should_ have eventually gotten him free. It wasn't working, though. The ropes only seemed to pull tighter, until he didn't dare squirm again for fear of cutting off circulation.

Finally, a full twenty minutes after the ropes had been secured on his wrists, Hayato conceded with a very irritable scowl.

"What, exactly, was the point of this?" he grumbled, irritably, still pulling, ever so slightly, at the bindings in hopes that they'd give. No such luck, dammit.

"You're always so edgy," Yamamoto murmured, looking down at Gokudera, which only served to anger the silver-haired bomber more. "I wouldn't be so edgy if—"

Whatever argument Gokudera had planned on launching died on his lips. Warm air puffed against his neck, just below his ear. Yamamoto was so achingly _close_ and he frowned at his inability to reach out and touch. Takeshi's tongue slid up the side of his neck, teeth scraping delicately across his skin; he bit down, hard enough to feel it, not hard enough to truly hurt, and behind his back, Gokudera's fingers curled in pleasure. This wasn't so very bad, after all.

"Do you trust me?" the words were purred against his ear, and Hayato's eyes slid shut, nodding slightly. They snapped open again as he felt something slip across his face, but the world had gone black, and all that was left was the pressure of a knot being tied at the back of his head. Brief panic shot through him before he banished it. No, he could not lose his cool.

"What are you doing?" Hayato asked warily, but the only response he got was a rough press of hands against his chest. Then, he was falling.

Hayato landed with a thump against the mattress, grimacing at the weight putting pressure on his shoulders. He was about to say as much, opened his mouth to speak, but felt fingers press against his lips.

"Don't move. Don't speak. Just relax." Whispers again, echoing in the back of his mind and punctuated by lips against the shell of his ear. Where did Takeshi get off ordering him around, anyway? Didn't he get that it was fairly close to impossible to relax with your hands behind your back?

The mattress shifted around him, and he could feel the slide of Takeshi's shirt against his shoulder as he was shifted on the bed—red, thin cotton, button-up. Hayato breathed through his nose, nervous and straining for a clue as to what was going on. Takeshi's hair— he assumed it was Takeshi's hair—tickled his jaw, and he _wanted_ to brush it away, but settled for shaking his head in an effort to relocate the offending strands. It didn't really work and he squirmed in irritation.

Fingers connected with his cheek, stinging slightly, and it had only barely registered that he'd been slapped, when the same fingers cupped his jaw, just tight enough to be uncomfortable. It was a stark difference to the pure adoration and gentle care that Takeshi usually used when he worshiped Hayato's body, but it wasn't altogether bad.

"I said don't move." Takeshi's voice had an edge to it, sharp as the katana he wielded on the battlefield, and Gokudera shuddered, even as lips brushed over his sore cheek, fingers dragging in tingling lines down his chest.

It occurred to him then that he was moderately helpless. In bindings alone, he could have just kicked Yamamoto if his lover had done anything he was adamantly against, but he couldn't see to do so. Takeshi kept moving; sometimes Hayato wasn't even sure he was there. How did he know that this wasn't some twisted dream, all in his head, and that he wouldn't wake up in a moment to find Takeshi asleep next to him, arms around his waist?

A sharp bite to his shoulder dismissed that idea as waves of heat coiled in his stomach. No, not a dream.

Abruptly, the pressure on the bed beside him abated, and he could hear footsteps that seemed to be getting farther away. He listened carefully, waiting for them to return, but nothing was forthcoming.

Well, what was the sense in that? Here he was, tied up, and blind. His shoulders were starting to hurt in earnest, and Yamamoto wasn't even here to enjoy the mess he'd left Gokudera in. It was confusing and made his heart pump a little bit faster, nervous and unsure, like trying to play a high stakes game when someone kept changing the rules.

In the silent dark of the bedroom—his world confined to the abyss in front of his eyes, the chill of the ceiling fan that sent brisk air over his bare chest, the silk sheets, soft and smooth beneath him—he considered his options. It wasn't as if he couldn't get away. After all, he had his legs free, for whatever reason. He could probably rub his head on something enough to get the blindfold off. Then again, there were the ropes that seemed impervious to any of his attempts to remove them, and that had been _such_ a dirty trick, very much deserving of retaliation once he was free. In the meantime, he finally gave, realizing he wasn't going anywhere until Takeshi let him go.

Speaking of which, where was the baseball idiot anyway? He listened again, careful not to move, holding his breath in silence to aid his ears. Still, there was nothing, and so he waited, patiently at least for him.

A chilling thought struck him. Takeshi wasn't _actually_ going to leave him here like this, was he? He thought he heard footsteps easing closer from down the hall, but then the phone rang and they disappeared again. Damn whoever was calling, and more than that, damn the fucking baseball idiot.

Answering the phone during sex was not okay. Answering the phone while he was tied up like this was downright cruel. Finally, Hayato had had enough, and squirmed towards the edge of the bed, calling Yamamoto's name. This wasn't fun anymore, and so help him, if Takeshi left him like this much longer, he was going to pull the "No-Sex-For-God-Knows-How-Long" card.

The phone clicked back onto the receiver, and Takeshi's steps were audible, closer now. The floor creaked beside the bed, and Gokudera flinched and gasped at a stinging smack across his cheek—then another. Hayato fumed inwardly, his flames flickering to life around the rope. Granted, he wasn't exactly a great source on the inner workings of relationships, but he was fairly certain it was safe to say that smacking someone was not a very good way to say 'I love you.'

"I told you not to move, not to speak." There were lips against his sore skin, tender in spite of everything, and soft words whispered against his cheeks: _"I'm sorry, I love you."_ Gokudera relaxed a fraction, letting his anger pass, as calloused hands slid down his arms, coming to a pause at the ropes. Bit by bit, the bindings were loosened and adjusted, and eventually he was free, his wrists held only by Takeshi's hands.

"Lie back." His voice was soft and soothing, and Hayato's shoulders were so very grateful for the relief that it didn't occur to him to do anything but listen. He didn't realize exactly what had happened until Takeshi had one arm pulled taut towards the corner of the bed, already bound once more, and was looping the rope around his other wrist.

"I thought we were done with this part," Gokudera complained, gasping at the swat to his side.

He wondered why Takeshi had left, because his lover didn't do anything for no reason. Gokudera thought about asking, considered the consequences, and decided he didn't want to know _that_ much. He didn't mind a little pain, but he wasn't _that _much of a masochist.

The bed shifted again, and he could feel his partner shift over him, fingers teasing his waistline for a moment before grasping the button on his jeans, flicking it open with ease. He heard more than felt the zipper pulled down, and then there were fingers curled at his sides, tugging off pants and boxers. He lifted his hips to help in the removal, earning a rough yank of his hair; he hissed at the sudden pain.

This was great, just fucking perfect. Now he was tied up, blindfolded and _naked_. Did the humiliation ever end? He could feel his cheeks burning.

He heard something clink, like wine glasses in a toast or something, off to his left, near his head. Yamamoto moved again, blocking the breeze from the ceiling fan. He could feel heat—warm skin _almost_ touching his own—and groaned in anticipation, shuddering. If Takeshi counted that as talking, he really was evil.

Apparently, though, he didn't, and no strike came. Hayato could feel air on his chest, hair tickling his chest, and Takeshi's mouth was so close, he could feel the Rain Guardian's nose on his skin, and then—oh _God,_ it was cold. He nearly shrieked in surprise, squirming in the bindings.

"What the hell…" He forgot briefly about the no speaking rule, and was cut off with another slap; now he really wanted to scream in frustration. Was the damn tease _trying_ to egg him on? Did he think he couldn't handle it? Hayato found himself almost grinning in a devious sort of resolve. He could handle whatever it was Takeshi was getting at.

The cold, wet thing was dragged down his chest and the freezing feeling spread, dripping along all the ridges of his body. He finally worked out that it was an ice cube, between Takeshi's teeth judging from the warmish puffs of air that sometimes accompanied the cold. He could feel water trail down his sides like frigid tears, and struggled not to move as Yamamoto's mouth whisked coolly down his belly and along the hollows at his hips. He felt blood rush downwards, and Yamamoto smile against his stomach.

There was a crunching noise and Takeshi's tongue, cool, wet, and warming bit by bit, dragging up the inside of his thigh. Hayato shivered, but did not move, deciding he could still beat Yamamoto at his own game. He willed his mind to drift to something, anything but this, but teeth nipped sharply at tender flesh and he kicked out with his right leg.  
Takeshi tsked and swatted the side of his rear, swift and sharp; Hayato bucked and his shoulders groaned in protest, and he was _not _looking forward to how sore he would be later. Those thoughts were quickly eradicated from his mind as Takeshi pressed soft, delicate kisses to Hayato's legs, and the junction where his thighs met his hips; everywhere but where the bomber really wanted them. He growled, low and dissatisfied, and Takeshi spanked him again.

Abruptly, Takeshi's lips left him entirely. He whined his lover's name in frustration, earning a strike with something that wasn't Takeshi's hand, sharp and slender, and it made a strange, noise just before hitting him, as if slicing through the air itself. For the first time that night, Hayato was really scared; Takeshi wouldn't really hurt him, right? The blow stung even as Takeshi's fingers rubbed comfortingly over tender, probably very red skin. He wasn't really _hurting_ him, per se, but he could, and Hayato was helpless to stop him. That was truly frightening.

He struggled with panic for a moment, and he tried to force it away as Takeshi returned, straddling his hips, fingers tracing his jaw, his nose, his lips; Takeshi's mouth followed close behind, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses to his tender skin. With his sense of sight cut off, everything else was heightened—the silk cool and Yamamoto's jeans rough against his heated skin, the sounds of the air conditioning and their labored breathing, the smell of sweat and gunpowder.

"You really are beautiful," Takeshi murmured in his ear, and Hayato felt the color rise in his cheeks; that was one of Yamamoto's favorite things to say, brushing off Gokudera's protests.

With a deep breath, he sank against the mattress, letting Takeshi do what he would. Fingertips danced over his skin, barely there, as if Takeshi was etching the contours of his chest and abdomen. A finger was drawn down his middle, pressing just barely along the top of his cock, and Hayato bit his lip to keep from crying out. No, there wasn't anything sexy about being this entirely at Takeshi's mercy, absolutely not…no matter what his throbbing erection may have indicated.

There was another clinking sound, and Hayato froze, recognizing it this time. Takeshi moved, palms sliding down his thighs, body shifting between his legs. Takeshi took him in all at once, and Hayato arched in surprise and pleasure. Takeshi's mouth bobbed, dragging him in and out on something akin to overload; his hot, wet tongue lapping at the underside of his length, while the ice Takeshi had nestled at the roof of his mouth caressed the top. Hayato choked on his breath, panting and shivering, and struggling to keep his mouth shut.

So close, so _close_—he could feel himself teetering on the edge, and Takeshi stopped, lips barely touching the head of his cock. It was infuriating. Hayato rocked his hips forward as best he could bound to the headboard, but Takeshi only moved his mouth further away.

"This is entirely unfair," Hayato muttered, and there was that whistling sound again—a stinging sensation, not more than an inch or two to the right of his cock. It burned, and he gasped in pain, trembling as the thin, leather strip brushed over him, along his length and across his balls; oh God, how long could he stand this torture? He squeezed his eyes shut, praying Takeshi wasn't getting any ideas, and about ready to do anything his lover asked if he just wouldn't hit him with that thing again.

He sighed audibly in relief as Takeshi pulled the whip away, tongue swiping lazily at his length once more. He opened his mouth to say something, but even as Yamamoto teased with his tongue, he felt his lover's hand shift, dragging the end of the riding crop down his hip. He let out another sigh instead, because that was apparently safe. No words passed between them but the words were clear anyway; he was subject to Takeshi's every whim. It was somewhat of a relief to come to terms with that much, and Hayato finally, _finally_ gave in.

There were palms pressed against his thighs, and he allowed his legs to be shifted, knees bent and pressed out somewhat; this part of the song and dance was familiar, because this was a constant. Takeshi's hand slipped behind the small of his back, lifting briefly to tuck something soft beneath him, presumably a pillow.

Takeshi moved again, warm and sure, and Hayato bit his lip because now he knew his lover had discarded his clothing somewhere along the line. Teeth nibbled at his skin, delicate and vulnerable, the underside of his wrist, just below the ropes. Takeshi's tongue ghosted downward, tormenting Gokudera with licks and nips and soft, wet kisses, worshipping every inch of his body. His angel, he called Gokudera—his beautiful, graceful, lethal angel.

Takeshi paused when he reached Hayato's shoulder, tilting up to kiss him in earnest, plundering the silveret's mouth with a tongue that tasted slightly of salt. Hayato moaned into the kiss, cursing the bindings that kept him from hanging on for dear life, and all too soon, it was ended, Takeshi's body descending down his own.

Lips at his waist, and there was a clicking sound, fingers passing, cool and slick, just barely touching his thighs, as if to let him know what was going on. Kisses dropped along his hips, and a finger was sliding in, slow and gentle. Hayato dropped his head back, focusing on Takeshi's lips to keep from tensing.

His lover's hand moved in easy rhythm, all the way out and back in, tongue flicking against Hayato's balls, sucking one and then the other into his mouth in pleasant distraction. A second finger pressed against him, and Gokudera was so drunk on Takeshi's mouth that he hardly noticed.

Takeshi's fingers were gone, and then his mouth, shifting for a moment away from Hayato. There was another click, a soft sigh that most certainly hadn't come from Gokudera's lips, and then he was back, burning against Gokudera's chest.

"Are you alright?" Takeshi's voice sounded genuinely concerned, and Hayato could only nod. Twenty minutes ago, he would probably have voiced otherwise, but he was discovering there was catharsis in this, in handing oneself over to another, and for once not feeling like he had to hang on to every ounce of control he could grasp. It was warm, and despite everything, he _trusted_ Yamamoto Takeshi, which was a great deal more powerful than love alone. He let himself be had, kissed, and touched, enjoying the feel of things he could not see.

With one last, almost chaste kiss, Takeshi rocked his hips, buried completely in one solid movement. It was strange how, when he couldn't see, his other senses were a little more keen, and he was undeniably aware of Takeshi's hand, cupping and tilting his chin up, nibbling affectionately at the corners of his mouth with each thrust.

Hayato gasped and shuddered with every downward movement, over extended until he could not stand it any longer. He murmured unintelligibly, forgetting the rules, forgetting anything but the in and out motion, the slide of Takeshi's body against his. Yamamoto reached between them, slick fingers wrapping around him and pumping once, twice. He tried to hold out but there were teeth at his throat and Takeshi closed his jaw, letting them sink in almost too hard. That was the last straw.

Hayato's whole body pulled tight, shivering and shaking and gasping for air he could not breathe. He forgot himself, forgot the embarrassment of being vulnerable, everything but this, sobbing Takeshi's name like he never would have before.

Takeshi pressed into him once more, falling still with a soft moan and whispered affectionate promises in Hayato's ear.

**XXX**

"See, I told you it would be fun," Yamamoto chuckled, kneading at Hayato's shoulders for a moment before urging him to lie on his stomach. Palms and fingers pressed and rubbed at his back, soothing away the aches induced by their activities. Hayato had to admit, this alone was _almost_ worth the humiliation of being tied up like that. If this was the result of playing along, Hayato thought that maybe he should do it more often. Instead of voicing this, he simply hummed and relaxed into his lover's touch, content and completely satisfied.

**XXX**

**PLEASE REVIEW! This is my first BDSM lemon, and I want to know what I can fix and what I did right.  
**


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